72 
The Poetry of Flowers. 
To be snatched up in transport! And we fed 
Upon affection's banquet, that ne’er palled 
Upon the spirit’s palate ! Friendship shed 
A light around our bosoms, which recalled 
The memory of that bard whose soul was wed— 
With love surpassing woman’s love, ungalled 
By selfish doubts—to him, the monarch’s son, 
Brave Jonathan 1 Like theirs, our souls were one, 
Oh ! long we loved in silence ! Neither spake 
Of that which worked the thoughtful mine within; 
Thou didst not guess that, sleeping or awake, 
My thoughts were full of thee till thought grew 
For it is sin of earthly things to make [sin : 
Our idols ; and I never hoped to win 
Thy coveted affection ; but for me, 
Thy heart was also yearning silently ! 
I was the-first to speak—and words there were, 
Wild words, that painted fond affection’s course ; 
Oh ! what indeed will erring tongues not dare, 
When conquering Feeling prompts ! Like winds 
that force 
From wind-harps mystic sounds, the lips declare 
Thoughts that are often followed by remorse ; 
For passion hath a potency that breaks 
Each puny bulwark callous Reason makes ! 
But ours was Friendship's purest worship—pure, 
Altho’ that worship bowed at earthly shrines ; 
Alas 1 that hearts on altars insecure 
Should sacrifice their all of bliss ! There twines 
O er mankind’s sweetest hopes corruption sure, 
To blast their beauty e’en whilst most it shines! 
’Tis but to teach us there are worlds above, 
Where Hope fruition finds in endless Love 1 
